Alice, or the Mysteries — Complete
public must commit many and fatal indiscretions when the public, as well
as his audience, is to be his judge. Lord Vargrave's utter incapacity
to comprehend political morality, his contempt for all the objects of
social benevolence, frequently led him into the avowal of doctrines,
which, if they did not startle the men of the world whom he addressed
(smoothed away, as such doctrines were, by speciousness of manner and
delivery), created deep disgust in those even of his own politics who
read their naked exposition in the daily papers. Never did Lord
Vargrave utter one of those generous sentiments which, no matter whether
propounded by Radical or Tory, sink deep into the heart of the people,
and do lasting service to the cause they adorn. But no man defended an
abuse, however glaring, with a more vigorous championship, or hurled
defiance upon a popular demand with a more courageous scorn. In some
times, when the anti-popular principle is strong; such a leader may
be useful; but at the moment of which we treat he was a most equivocal
auxiliary. A considerable proportion of the ministers, headed by the
premier himself, a man of wise views and unimpeachable honour, had
learned to view Lord Vargrave with dislike and distrust. They might have
sought to get rid of him; but he was not one whom slight mortifications
could induce to retire of his own accord, nor was the sarcastic and bold
debater a person whose resentment and opposition could be despised.
Lord Vargrave, moreover, had secured a party of his own,--a party
more formidable than himself. He went largely into society; he was the
special favourite of the female diplomats, whose voices at that time
were powerful suffrages, and with whom, by a thousand links of gallantry
and intrigue, the agreeable and courteous minister formed a close
alliance. All that _salons_ could do for him was done. Added to this, he
was personally liked by his royal master; and the Court gave him their
golden opinions; while the poorer, the corrupter, and the more bigoted
portion of the ministry regarded him with avowed admiration.
In the House of Commons, too, and in the bureaucracy, he had no
inconsiderable strength; for Lumley never contracted the habits of
personal abruptness and discourtesy common to men in power who wish
to keep applicants aloof. He was bland and conciliating to all men of
ranks; his intellect and self-complacency raised him far above the petty
jealousies that great men feel for rising men. Did any tyro earn the
smallest distinction in parliament, no man sought his acquaintance so
eagerly as Lord Vargrave; no man complimented, encouraged, "brought on"
the new aspirants of his party with so hearty a good will.
Such a minister could not fail of having devoted followers among the
able, the ambitious, and the vain. It must also be confessed that Lord
Vargrave neglected no baser and less justifiable means to cement his
power by placing it on the sure rock of self-interest. No jobbing was
too gross for him. He was shamefully corrupt in the disposition of his
patronage; and no rebuffs, no taunts from his official brethren, could
restrain him from urging the claims of any of his creatures upon the
public purse. His followers regarded this charitable selfishness as
the stanchness and zeal of friendship; and the ambition of hundreds was
wound up in the ambition of the unprincipled minister.
But besides the notoriety of his public corruption, Lord Vargrave was
secretly suspected by some of personal dishonesty,--suspected of selling
his State information to stock-jobbers, of having pecuniary interests in
some of the claims he urged with so obstinate a pertinacity. And though
there was not the smallest evidence of such utter abandonment of honour,
though it was probably but a calumnious whisper, yet the mere suspicion
of such practices served to sharpen the aversion of his enemies, and
justify the disgust of his rivals.
In this position now stood Lord Vargrave: supported by interested, but
able and powerful partisans; hated in the country, feared by some of
those with whom he served, despised by others, looked up to by the rest.
It was a situation that less daunted than delighted him; for it seemed
to render necessary and excuse the habits of scheming and manoeuvre
which were so genial to his crafty and plotting temper. Like an ancient
Greek, his spirit loved intrigue for intrigue's sake. Had it led to no
end, it would still have been sweet to him as a means. He rejoiced to
surround himself with the most complicated webs and meshes; to sit in
the centre of a million plots. He cared not how rash and wild some of
them were. He relied on his own ingenuity, promptitude, and habitual
good fortune to make every spring he handled conducive to the purpose of
the machine--SELF.
His last visit to Lady Vargrave, and his conversation with Evelyn, had
left on his mind much dissatisfaction and fear. In the earlier years of
his intercourse with Evelyn, his good humour, gallantry, and presents
had not failed to attach the child to the agreeable and liberal visitor
she had been taught to regard as a relation. It was only as she grew up
to womanhood, and learned to comprehend the nature of the tie between
them, that she shrank from his familiarity; and then only had he learned
to doubt of the fulfilment of his uncle's wish. The last visit had
increased this doubt to a painful apprehension. He saw that he was not
loved; he saw that it required great address, and the absence of happier
rivals, to secure to him the hand of Evelyn; and he cursed the duties
and the schemes which necessarily kept him from her side. He had thought
of persuading Lady Vargrave to let her come to London, where he could be
ever at hand; and as the season was now set in, his representations on
this head would appear sensible and just. But then again this was to
incur greater dangers than those he would avoid. London!--a beauty and
an heiress, in her first _debut_ in London! What formidable admirers
would flock around her! Vargrave shuddered to think of the gay,
handsome, well-dressed, seductive young _elegans_, who might seem, to
a girl of seventeen, suitors far more fascinating than the middle-aged
politician. This was perilous; nor was this all: Lord Vargrave knew that
in London--gaudy, babbling, and remorseless London--all that he could
most wish to conceal from the young lady would be dragged to day. He had
been the lover, not of one, but of a dozen women, for whom he did not
care three straws, but whose favour had served to strengthen him in
society, or whose influence made up for his own want of hereditary
political connections. The manner in which he contrived to shake off
these various Ariadnes, whenever it was advisable, was not the least
striking proof of his diplomatic abilities. He never left them enemies.
According to his own solution of the mystery, he took care never to play
the gallant with Dulcineas under a certain age. "Middle-aged women," he
was wont to say, "are very little different from middle-aged men; they
see things sensibly, and take things coolly." Now Evelyn could not be
three weeks, perhaps three days, in London, without learning of one or
the other of these _liaisons_. What an excuse, if she sought one, to
break with him! Altogether, Lord Vargrave was sorely perplexed, but not
despondent. Evelyn's fortune was more than ever necessary to him,
and Evelyn he was resolved to obtain since to that fortune she was an
indispensable appendage.
CHAPTER II.
YOU shall be Horace, and Tibullus I.--POPE.
LORD VARGRAVE was disturbed from his revery by the entrance of the Earl
of Saxingham.
"You are welcome!" said Lumley, "welcome!--the very man I wished to
see."
Lord Saxingham, who was scarcely altered since we met with him in the
last series of this work, except that he had grown somewhat paler and
thinner, and that his hair had changed from iron-gray to snow-white,
threw himself in the armchair beside Lumley, and replied,--
"Vargrave, it is really unpleasant, our finding ourselves always thus
controlled by our own partisans. I do not understand this new-fangled
policy, this squaring of measures to please the Opposition, and throwing
sops to that many-headed monster called Public Opinion. I am sure it
will end most mischievously."
"I am satisfied of it," returned Lord Vargrave. "All vigour and union
seem to have left us; and if they carry the ----- question against us, I
know not what is to be done."
"For my part, I shall resign," said Lord Saxingham, doggedly; "it is the
only alternative left to men of honour."
"You are wrong; I know another alternative."
"What is that?"
"Make a Cabinet of our own. Look ye, my dear lord; you been ill-used;
your high character, your long experience, are treated with contempt.
It is an affront to you--the situation you hold. You, Privy Seal!--you
ought to be Premier; ay, and, if you are ruled by me, Premier you shall
be yet."
Lord Saxingham coloured, and breathed hard.
"You have often hinted at this before, Lumley; but you are so partial,
so friendly."
"Not at all. You saw the leading article in the ----- to-day? That will
be followed up by two evening papers within five hours of this time. We
have strength with the Press, with the Commons, with the Court,--only
let us hold fast together. This ----- question, by which they hope to
get rid of us, shall destroy them. You shall be Prime Minister before
the year is over--by Heaven, you shall!--and then, I suppose, I too may
be admitted to the Cabinet!"
"But how?--how, Lumley? You are too rash, too daring."
"It has not been my fault hitherto,--but boldness is caution in our
circumstances. If they throw us out now, I see the inevitable march of
events,--we shall be out for years, perhaps for life. The Cabinet will
recede more and more from our principles, our party. Now is the time for
a determined stand; now can we make or mar ourselves. I will not
resign; the king is with us; our strength shall be known. These haughty
imbeciles shall fall into the trap they have dug for us."
Lumley spoke warmly, and with the confidence of a mind firmly assured
of success. Lord Saxingham was moved; bright visions flashed across
him,--the premiership, a dukedom. Yet he was old and childless, and his
honours would die with the last lord of Saxingham!
"See," continued Lumley, "I have calculated our resources as accurately
as an electioneering agent would cast up the list of voters. In the
Press, I have secured ----- and -----, and in the Commons we have the
subtle -----, and the vigour of -----, and the popular name of -----,
and all the boroughs of -----; in the Cabinet we have -----, and at
Court you know our strength. Let us choose our moment; a sudden _coup_,
an interview with the king, statement of our conscientious scruples to
this atrocious measure. I know the vain, stiff mind of the premier; _he_
will lose temper, he will tender his resignation; to his astonishment,
it will be accepted. You will be sent for; we will dissolve parliament;
we will strain every nerve in the elections; we shall succeed, I know
we shall. But be silent in the meanwhile, be cautious: let not a word
escape you, let them think us beaten; lull suspicion asleep; let us
lament our weakness, and hint, only hint at our resignation, but with
assurances of continued support. I know how to blind them, if you leave
it to me."
The weak mind of the old earl was as a puppet in the hands of his bold
kinsman. He feared one moment, hoped another; now his ambition was
flattered, now his sense of honour was alarmed. There was something in
Lumley's intrigue to oust the government with which he served that had
an appearance of cunning and baseness, of which Lord Saxingham, whose